Cellmates
by Besina
Summary: John and Sherlock find themselves incarcerated for a night, and Sherlock's being a bit of a prat about it. General/Friendship/Fluff


Cellmates  
>Written by Besina, February 2012<p>

Rated: K+  
>Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes<br>Story Type: Friendship, fluff  
>Warnings: none<br>Written for: flyninthetardis at the sherlockbbc's Make Me a Monday prompts

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Sherlock and John and mean no copyright infringement by bringing them out to play, nor do I make any money by writing this fanfic.

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><p>You would think that having gotten the whole flat-mate business sorted out and nearly down to a science, one night as cellmates wouldn't be much of a leap, but you would be wrong.<p>

"Sherlock, it's your fault we're in here to begin with, you can at least budge over and give me a bit of room to sit down!" John complained.

Sherlock, however, had made himself very comfortable on the short and narrow bunk that passed for a bed in the tiny holding cell. He faced the wall of the cell, his knees drawn up, and back curved which allowed him to fit, but also left little to no room for anyone else.

They'd just finished a long and arduous chase which, although successful in apprehending the suspect, also had them breaking several local ordinances and Sherlock's contempt for the local police ultimately had them hauled in for the night. For some reason, Sherlock blamed John for somehow not being able to talk their way out of it. He was in a bad mood, and not entirely disposed to sharing.

John sagged against the opposite wall. "Listen Sherlock, we've been up nearly 24 hours so far and running for most of it. I'd like a place to rest. You know you won't be sleeping anytime soon, so please don't be a prick about this. I need to kip for a bit or I'll be totally useless."

Sherlock remained silent, glowering at the wall.

"I'm shorter than you; I promise I can leave a bit for you to sit on." Waiting but still hearing no reply, John's ire began to rise. "Right, then, if you're going to act like an ill-behaved toddler, I'll just have to treat you like one."

John rose to his feet and walked purposefully toward the reclining shape on the bunk. He'd almost laid his hand on Sherlock's arm, when Sherlock swatted at him, hitting him ineffectually, but staving off any attempt at removing him from the bunk. A few further tries resulted in the same result. John didn't exactly want to hurt his friend, so there was only so far he would go, but this was starting to get ridiculous.

"Sherlock," he complained once more, voice sounding both weary and strained. He thought he heard a brief "hrmph" in reply. "Fine! If that's the way you want it!" and he charged toward the detective's legs, latching hold of one of them.

Sherlock, despite his spindly outward appearance, could throw quite a kick; granted, as he was still facing the wall, this one was a backward kick, and lacked some of the emphasis he might have had otherwise, he still felt it make contact, felt John's grip give way, and heard John stumble backward across the cell.

He didn't think he'd kicked that hard, but John's breathing: sucking in deep lungfuls of air, expelled slowly through his lips, told him otherwise. He rolled over on the bunk to see John, grasping tightly across himself, his right hand firmly holding onto his left side as he slowly sank to his knees, then fell forward bracing himself with his right hand.

"Very cute, John; nicely acted, I might add. But there's nothing wrong with you. There's no way I kicked you hard enough to hurt you that much."

John said nothing, just continued gasping and slowly breathing the pain out. After a few minutes of it, his breath steadied a little, and while he was still breathing through it, the great gulps of air had subsided. He slowly rocked forward, placing his forehead against the coolness of the cement floor, in a position that seemed almost reverent.

"John?"

John stayed that way, still clutching his side, silent, apart from the breathing, eyes closed, apparently focused on something else. Sherlock wondered if he'd even heard him. He also began to question his own evaluation of events. Slowly, he raised himself off the bunk and walked to John.

John appeared to have a few beads of sweat forming at his temples, looked a bit green around the gills. A wave of remorse washed over Sherlock; he sank down beside his friend. Unsure of what to do, he smoothed one long hand down John's back, trying to provide some comfort; repeated the action a couple of times.

"Come on, let's get you up," he said, looking for a place where he could gently aid John in standing without causing much more pain. He eventually placed John's right hand over his shoulders and helped him up. John still remained hunched over and fairly bent at the knees but Sherlock managed to get him back to the bunk and lying down.

"John. I'm sorry," he managed, as John scooted further into the bunk, true to his word, leaving some room for Sherlock to perch on, should he need it.

Sherlock's suspicions only started to re-surface as John seemed to fall asleep immediately, also apparently forgetting all about his injury, as his hand fell limply from it.

Sherlock stared at his friend, mildly annoyed, but also somewhat impressed. He clicked his tongue, pondering his next move. What John had said was true; he didn't need the sleep. He was nowhere near tired yet. He let out a soft snort and almost imperceptibly shook his head, before scooting in behind John, draping an arm over his waist. It was not exactly comfortable, but if he curled his length closely behind John, it would make do. Fake injury or no, he still felt protective of his friend and a little contrite for his previous behavior. Plus, he had gotten one over on him; that was rare.

A few hours later, he felt himself also drifting off; let the constables think what they wished when they came to release them in the morning. He still had John.

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><p>AN:

Thanks for reading! I can be found on Tumblr as BesinaAo3

Please do not repost or distribute this work on any other site.  
>For translation permissions, please see my AO3 profile - username Besina<p> 


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